2.33. He Kissed Me

And I felt like putty

Like the sky at 7:53am on a Tuesday while Bob Marley played in someones car…”No woman no cry.”

Like an empty bottle of creamy baby oil left atop an unused counter…waiting

Like a cool bottle of wine, uncorked but owned

Like a valley unpaved by mankind.

He kissed me 

And I felt like an orgasmic tigress

An unleashed heathen

A closeted slut

A pornographic master

A willing submissive

An intrigued Dom

Waiting Prey

The hungry predator.

He kissed me 

And floodgates opened







Lips to lips


Lips to throat


Palms to palms pressed, fiercely, against cold brick

Lips to chest




He kissed me

With every intent of staying

And fleeing

Gasping for more

My oxygen in his lungs

My everything in his hands

My world in his words



He kissed me

And I was something else

Someone else

A vixen

A kitten

A little bit of both

A culmination of what shouldn’t be and what had to be

Lips to stomach

Staring at the back of eyelids

Familiarizing scents and tastes

Tongues sway



Lips to inner thigh

He kissed me 

And I watched him beg

To feel pretty lips

Below the hips

For one thrust

One drink





2.21. I’ll Take That

“If you can’t accept me at my worst,

you sure as shit don’t deserve me at my best. 

Call me crazy

For every outlandish, brash, bold, blunt verbal vomit I will lay on the land. For every lapse in judgement and weakened moment. For the insecurity that beats in my chest. For the endless array of questions as to what and why and how and when and what-if?

Call me crazy

For wanting love despite the madness. For believing in a pure, true, and deep connection based on something other than violent thrusts and faked endings. For dreaming about love stories even greater than the sun and moon leaving letters of adoration in the stars. For anticipating something so profound, the world just won’t know what to do with us.

Call me crazy

For expressing the happiness, sadness, joy, horror, thrill, worry of what this life has to offer. For being a cryptic read. For wanting effort, loyalty, honesty, integrity, passion, romance, intensity, forgiveness, growth, inspiration, laughter, conversation, sincerity, hope…and more laughter.

Call me crazy 

For feeling frail after the world I called forever crashed down upon me. For not being as strong, as tough, as bold, as brave, as resilient, as optimistic as the next one. For feeling just a tad broken after the glass castle broke. For not healing to your liking.

Call me crazy

Call me what you will. A failure. A disappointment. A mistake. A burden. I’ve heard it all before.

I am a beautiful chaos. Not meant for just anyone. Not meant for those weak of mind and heart. For some, a blessing to never know. To each his own. Souls like mine aren’t meant for the world to love. Being me comes with the risk of loneliness and labels.

Call me crazy. 

From a cowardly lion, that’s a fucking compliment. 

2.18. For The New Year

Dear 2013,

Your predecessor sucked. I have high hopes for you and the possibilities you may bring.

  1. Finalize this divorce. 
  2. Move into a larger space so Hunter has his own room.
  4. Visit NYC with Hunter
  5. Get a better paying job.
  6. Take (at least) one college course.
  7. Start working out on the reg.
  8. Take a cooking/dancing/something class with my bestie
  9. Start a savings account solely for Hunter
  11. Kiss the muse aka submit my writing for critique/publication
  12. Give Hunter everything he deserves.
  13. Be happy.

Sincerely yours,


2.17. The Purpose of A Life

Fingers across the sky

Ten paintbrushes designed to nurture dreams.

Fingers digging in the dirt

Ten shovels to clear your path…

The path to get you there.

Kiss the wind and taste the air

in which aspirations bloom from seedlings of hope.

A mother is your river.

One that flows for you, ethereal child.

This heart of mine is yours.

I breathe, solely, for you.


Some are mine and some are borrowed. All are true.

It is of wasted body and breath to want to fix the world. It is with great respect I look to those who walk off the beaten path because it is never easy.

I am here not to validate or condemn a soul. The life I’ve chosen for my time here is mine alone and the only one that is my business. You take care of yours and I’ll take care of mine.

It is the human condition to love and want to be loved, it is the human curse to hurt others and to be hurt. We judge one another relentlessly yet wish not to be judged, a never ending cycle that shall bring us to our end.

Please don’t ask me about someone elses feelings, opinions, judgements, actions, etc etc as I am only one person and therefore I can only answer fully and without bias, for myself.

On that note, don’t ask me why I do what I do. If I thought it important enough to discuss, I would have by now. I do EVERYTHING for a reason, I just don’t feel the need to consult with ANYONE.
That is all.

“We must see all scars as beauty…take it from me, a scar does not form on the dying. A scar means, I survived.” – Excerpt from Little Bee by Chris Cleave.

If my mind doesn’t intimidate you, my mouth probably will, not for the faint of heart.

“Like uncharted territory, I must seem greatly intriguing…you’re not allowed, you’re uninvited.”

“I only care about the words that flutter from your mind. They are the only thing you truly own. The only thing I will remember you by. I will not fall in love with your bones and skin. I will not fall in love with the places you’ve been. I will not fall in love with anything but the words that flutter from your extraordinary mind.” – Andre Jordan

You must never shout at the concrete
You must always shout at the stars
Concrete cant hear you.

“Words need not endorse the obvious.”

I love life and the strange people in it. No two alike, eccentric and chaotic, mellow and mysterious, everyone is a story waiting to be read and Im the avid reader. I am continuously enthralled by the wonders these people show me, teach me, allow me to see, blessed to learn more about our universe everyday from the living stars amongst us. Don’t be afraid to know these people, to care about these people, to love these people. It is the divine gift we have been given which makes us human. Enjoy.

“To enter the mystery of timelessness is to enter the sanctuary of the here, where we are given a chance at every moment to begin our lives again. Not one of us is perfect, and sorrows press upon us all. But, the universe is a merciful one, in which unlimited opportunities for new beginnings are built into the very essence of things.”

Let us take our head out of the clouds and into the light. Dwelling on fears of loneliness only creates loneliness, rage begets rage, and chasing a dream only makes it run faster away.
“I know my destination, I’m just not there…”

I always say something wrong
I always speak right when the thought hits me
I always offend at least one person in the room
I always talk too loud, too long, too fast
I always make people >.< o.O or =O
I always second guess the last 5 things I just did
I always do them anyway
I always share how I’m feeling, even if its ugly
I always fuck up
I always say I’m sorry
I always mean it
I always fall
I always get back up
I always want to win
I always lose
I always dream the impossible dreams
I always come back to reality
I always live in the past
I always want to be in the future
I always forget the present is the gift
I always care…even when I don’t.

It’s not what you say but what you mean
It’s not what you give but what you hold back
It’s not who you were but who you are
It’s not who you are but who you’ll be
It’s not what you do but why you do it
It’s not why you care but when you show it
It’s not what you know but what you don’t.

That’s exactly how much of me you know. Judge that 1% Label that 1% Hate that 1% because not even blood knows the 99. It’s all in my head, all in my heart, all in my soul and you aren’t welcome there. These are the places you can never molest, never dictate, never contaminate. This belongs to me. *Locks the door and throws away the key*

You are full of fatuity…and so I forsake you.

“The writings easy, it’s the living that is sometimes difficult.” – Charles Bukowski

Dont play dead before you have to.” – Wally Lamb – The Hour I First Believed –

Sometimes, we sacrifice who we are for who we think we should be, who others will accept us as. In seeing friends/family/strangers battle this, in seeing myself battle this, I know nothing is greater then having self. Flawed; work on it…but don’t lose you. I wont. This is my face in my mirror, and I’m alright with seeing me.

“We’re always looking in the wrong direction. We ponder the stars while burning the earth, the bullet we’re running from is almost never the one that hits us.”

1.196 – For Your Cuntsumption

I want sex
Without the skin
Ten thousand brush strokes
when fingertips
become pens
gracing the pages of your…

Ten thousand
musical notes
flowing from lips
in baratone moans
strumming at the strings of my…

Ten thousand ways to say
those words of longing
in deafoning silence
with eyes clenched shut
and thighs pried open
I am braille
you are blind
Read me…

Ten thousand
layers of icing
decadent and sweet
because I love the taste of your…

Ten thousand ways to
deeper still
into untouched waves
crashing on the shore
that is my…

Ten thousand hues
to explore
through bites and scratches
smacks of the perfect measure
the prettiest ruptures of skin
I am your canvas
you hold the brush
paint me…

I want the sex
without the skin
above me
below me
within me
as I touch…
those words come

endless convulsions
spastic explosions
admiring you from every angle
as I watch…
those words come

Sweat and saliva
covering us like silk sheets
As I inhale…
those words come

Everything you want
sent to me on petals
of grunts and moans
through clenched teeth
travelling on orgasmic whimpers
As I listen…
those words come

Licking my lips
through each smirk
insatiable thirst intensifies
because of your…
As I taste…
the words come

Ten thousand triggers
to the senses
As tongues embrace and bodies

Ten thousand
words against your skin
chapter upon chapter
of gasps and heaves
panting through perpetual
bliss in every stroke…
of a tongue

Ten thousand
droplets…of rain
immerse me
and I am humbled
feeling ecstasy cum
through and through and through

Ten thousand
flavors for your
layers of buttery velvet streaming
like music

Ten thousand
screaming banshees
consumed by the need
to return the savagery

Ten thousand
oceanic waves
surging over the course of my…

As I slip into
and we soar intertwined

Ten thousand
ways to call your name silently
to watch you shake uncontrollably
as brick turns to
clay in your hands

Ten thousand
burning embers
as I am your…
and you are my…
and the words come…

I want sex
without the skin

1.186 – Dream Catcher Page 1

You’re probably not going to believe anything I’m about to tell you. Reflecting on it all, I realize it is quite the story; a story that is almost impossible to believe. Evidence sets the validity of any tale; documentation that makes everything appears crystal clear. On this occasion, there is no concrete evidence. If you stick around, I’ll explain why that is, later on. Personal accounts can also be helpful, although no one is left to tell this story. No one except me. So, it’s really up to you whether you want to believe this story as truth. But, I will warn you now; no matter what you believe, there is a war happening and I am your only soldier.


While the masses argue over the hypothetical existence of heaven and hell, my kind is stuck in the ongoing battle to protect the tangible, the reality of the mind. In every cerebral computer, there is a functioning gateway, which allots so many visits to and from a place solely known as The Dreamscape.

More on this place later.

In the same way, the darkness of nightmares has its own portal, somewhere left of wonder and right of empty thought. However, in order for you to understand what’s at stake, you have to open your mind to everything you thought was fiction; revealing itself in the very beginning, to the moments, though few in number, before the war began.

And so, this story does not begin on the battlefields of earth amongst the untouchables in their times of triumph and defeat but on a young girls opening day into the journey of a lifetime. 

1.178 – The (con)-Artist

“We’ll be reduced to bland subject matter, just to avoid embarrassment.” – The Writing Class

The fiction writer is a fictional artist

A recorder of the con; living in the con, breathing in the con, working the con and retelling it to unsuspecting ears.

From the crack of dawn until the setting of the sun, this life is a mound of clay – molded to the specifications of the story teller…the story maker.

Because the greatest truths and the greatest lies have not come from soldiers and martyrs, not the teachers or students but the artists. The artists of the con.

The mouth you feed. Filled with shit

The bible you read. The con made it.

The sky you see. Foundation laid.

The God within it. The story we made.

History is what we want you to know. The future is where we want you to go. The day is but the time to rise. The night is your impending demise. Because we’ve made the weather and decided whether you will know tomorrow…if the chapter is completed.

Defeated, sometimes we end on an ellipses that is meant to travel like sands of time……………..until the decline of interest in which we pick it up with a beat, a strike of the keys, demigods and pleas…sanction on screens and pages and repeated by drones we’ve hand plucked from the tomb of unsuspecting…canvases.

Because you are nothing unless I make you into my heroine. But your not the drug of this plot. Just the catalyst until I devour inspirations – presented on a platter, soaked in your tears. Which I made.

A league of extraordinary…liars. We breathe into life what your nimble mind couldn’t even imagine. We make tree’s resemble men and men resemble dirt and earth resemble the heart – pulsing and growing and dying and flowing

Into rivers created to sweep away poorly made paragraphs and half assed sentences lingering on the edge of the rocks, reaching out desperately to dead words from dead languages

quid solebat te mori

Because it is not in this segment, this chapter, this section of the trilogy. You last as long as the artist desires, as long as the con must continue. Because every bad thing that happens to you is for some audience to relate and to pity and to empathize and to say “damn, so glad that shit ain’t happenin’ to my ass.”

The air you breathe. We made it be.

The life you conceive. That’s thanks to me.

The dreams you chase. You follow my lead.

The regrets to erase. I give what you need.

Your government, your religion, your desires, your fantasies, your goals, your wonders exist solely because someone somewhere read something we left behind. The flame that makes people hungry, warm, passionate, assiduous. We left the seed that planted the tree that fed the fruit that made shit happen.

We create and then take. And you want us to. Spark up images of demons and defiled innocence, the goddess upon the mount and the mole in the hill, the sad man cradling his dying dog on the street with a sign that begs for food and the triumphant moments of autistic children learning and sharing and loving and knowing…something powerful. We create the bad, the good, the hideous and the microscopic images of perfection, speckled on a dark cloud, raining down upon you maybe once…twice in a lifetime.

That rain you will chase into a forest never seen and you will fight for a love you couldn’t possibly ever know. But you think you can. Because someone, somewhere…wrote about it. And left it on a parchment in the sand. For you. To find. To dream. To reach.

For the stars you cant kiss and the moon you cant touch and the sun you cant really feel because none of it is there. We are the magicians of the world, which is really just a box, a cubicle in a building that isn’t really a building but a tunnel of dirt. And in this tunnel, we are all still and blank and filled with nothing. We have no skin, no bones, no reflections but are the epitome of ghosts.

Until the artist comes. The artists come. The madmen. The delusional sirens projecting their hallucinations onto those tunnel walls, smearing the smudge into enough paint to cover your lifetime. Because nothing you know is yours. It is just another manipulation of ink upon a collection of notes. Your life is not yours, oh no.

This life.

Is just another sentence.

In the book of the Con


1.177 – Loving The Dead

“I’ll leave my heart here with you and you take care of it for me.”

Yeah, I’m alone but I’m never alone. And I don’t admire those girls walking with those guys…hand in hand and lost in their simple type of love. That earthly love that fails to conquer forever, that shatters never, that travels wherever.

Yeah, I’m alone but I’m never alone. And I don’t admire those girls listening to those boys while they spew operatic notes off silver tongues… rewind… repeat…fast-forward…repeat. That earthly sound that fails to emulate the unblemished accent of a thunderous voice wrapped in honey-suckle and lavender.

Yeah, I’m alone but I’m never alone. And I don’t admire those girls phased by the layers of courtship used to lather them up…that real flow lost generations ago…something now justified and yet so cheap. That earthly engagement that is built on the grinding of bodies and the bashing of souls…forgotten and bruised in the basement of some forgettable place on a street never to be known again. Nothing like the magic, the thrill, the enticing threshold of intensity fortified by wild minds, chaotic hearts, spurned addictions and delicious afflictions.

Because this world wasn’t ready for us. Because this world couldn’t handle our kind of love. A love that has no name in the English language. In any language. Except Sign Language. Because I was Braille. And you read me to the deepest depths of my actuality. Delving into the den of my secrets. Submerged in my crux. The part of me no one will ever know.

Yeah, I’m alone but I’m never alone. And I don’t admire those thieves of the heart. The ones who swoon and give away so easily. Those who take and toss aside the bountiful bunches of hope without so much as a second thought. Those who forget that devotion is forever. The flame of two hearts, two souls as they collide cannot and will not be snuffed. Not by time, not by space, not by the demise of the rare angels that walk amongst us.

This heart I have is not meant to be given. Because this heart I have is not mine. This is the gift you left me – the one I will guard with my very being. And mine…mine is in your hands…somewhere on the cusp of heaven…hell…and forever. Wait for me, love. Wait for me and the time when our hearts unite. Yours in mine and mine…yours.

Yesterday, today, tomorrow. 

1.176 – The Average Life

It feels like forever since I’ve sat down and written a word. But life has a way of getting in the way. So here’s the rundown of this girls life in bullet points…since I’m too lazy to do paragraphs. Apparently, those take more effort than I’m willing to put in right about now.

  • My new job is a lot of physical work so I’m still trying to get used to that.
  • I just had a meeting today with some very important people who are doing an investigation concerning money that has gone missing. Needless to say, I’m not a thief and I’ve made that very clear. I don’t think they feel like I am a threat so I’m feeling less worried than I was before the meeting.
  • I only got about 20K in words for my June CampNaNoWriMo novel. Yeah, life got in the way. I will probably attempt another novel in August. We shall see.
  • Being able to pay my bills and fill my kitchen with enough food to last two weeks is an amazing feeling.
  • Having a falling out with family members is not something new to me. But this time around, I’ve had a new reaction. I can sit here and sulk and wonder why the hell things like this happen. But I’m not going to. I know who loves me and I know who cares and I know that at the end of the day, it’s not about how much family I’ve got but how I’m going to be family to my son. Staying focused and letting go of excess baggage.
  • In the same notion, I have also realized that people can smile to your face and chirp about how they want to be friends but if they never make the effort to reach out – they aren’t friends. Period. I don’t have the time, desire, or energy to chase bonds that were not meant to be. So I say goodbye and keep it moving. Not my loss.
  • I’ve been having odd dreams lately. Had a whole love story with some guy named Max. I don’t know a Max. Never have. Had a dream I bought 22 gallons of whole milk and had a meltdown trying to figure out how to fit it all into my refrigerator before it spoiled. Just odd.
  • My son is still freaking awesome!
  • Realized I have to work on my book review blog because I haven’t touched it in quite some time despite the fact that I am putting forth a huge effort to read every day. It’s on my to-do list.

So yeah, that’s life right now. It’s not that interesting…but it’s mine.